


inscrutable are the ways of heaven

by ukiseikou



Category: X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: M/M, florist!hangyul, postman!seungyoun, slight angst and fluff i guess, soulmates au...kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 11:34:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20674715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukiseikou/pseuds/ukiseikou
Summary: After posting a letter for his late mother, Hangyul meets a postman who claims to deliver letters to dead people in heaven.





	inscrutable are the ways of heaven

**Author's Note:**

> this is a heaven's postman au that i wrote for my own self-gratification after seeing a k-oneit tweet a postman seungyoun x florist hangyul photoset when x1 did a fansign. had this in my drafts for forever but that seungyul podcast last midnight just propelled me to release this for the world to see haha... english isn't my first language so i apologize in advance for any grammatical errors and misspellings. hope u enjoy!

Hangyul was never the type to dwell too much in the past. He thought there was no use getting too preoccupied on matters that are long gone and irreversible. Back then and as a mere child, he used to spend nights thinking why he was abandoned by the people who never should have done so, wondering if he ever lacked in ways that made them think it was that easy to just drop him off in front of a house that is not theirs and never come back. It used to eat him up alive and it took a lot of years before he decided to pick himself up and live his days exuberantly in order not to worry his foster parents any longer. He owes a lot to them for taking him in with warm and patient hearts and giving him the parental love that he has always yearned for. He has always moved forward, and it continued to stay like that until he crossed paths with his birth mother on one Sunday afternoon.

For the past few days, apart from tending his humble flower shop, Hangyul has only been seen skimming through the same old photo album while his customers roam around to admire the fresh, dewy flowers on sale. Only a few of them actually buy though. Except for the occasional bulk orders thanks to weddings and funerals, business has not been very good lately but he doesn’t really mind. The shop is a special place that he treats as an extension of himself, the blithe colors of flowers uplifting his blue spirit on bad days and making him even more cheerful on sunny mornings. Producing income will always be second to being happy with what he does.

The photo album contains only a small number of pictures dating from the early 90s to the years prior to him being left at an orphanage. It takes only less than five minutes to look through everything yet he cannot seem to put it down and just listlessly look at every photo until a customer calls for his attention. It does not hold a lot of information regarding his childhood, such as his early hobbies and the like, but it did include few events from his early years that he barely remembers, like his first birthday and his first trip to the amusement park and the zoo. Among the rest of the pictures, his favorite one is not of him, but rather an old picture of his now late birth mother, looking very youthful and vibrant as she reflects the bright energy radiated by the sunflowers surrounding her. Throughout the course of his life, he has forgotten what she looked like, and now that there is something to remind him of her, he wants to keep looking at it so that it will be forever ingrained in his mind.

“Is that a photo album?” he hears a quiet voice speak and he quickly shifts his attention to an old woman taking a glimpse from the other side of the counter. Hangyul recognizes her as the same woman who goes to his shop every Friday to buy a bouquet of tulips and leaves him tips even though he’s so adamant in refusing to accept it. She’s a rare one; no one leaves tips these days.

Tall and scrawny with her gray hair pulled into a tight bun, she reminds him of one particular picture in the photo album that has him and an elderly couple smiling in what seems to be a local diner. He wondered if those were his grandparents; he could ask his mother, but there is no need to do that anymore with her no longer around.

“Ah, yes,” he answers, closing the album. “But it has only a few pictures.”

“The number of pictures doesn’t matter if it holds a lot of memories, right?” she chirps gaily, carefully placing her chosen flowers on the counter for Hangyul to wrap in a clean paper.

“Right,” Hangyul slightly nods. “I don’t remember most of them though so it’s a pity.”

“Even if that’s the case, it’s good to look back on the past sometimes, isn’t it? It’s a pretty old photo album if I may say. You should take care of it well,” the old woman advises, lightly tapping Hangyul’s shoulder. “The photo that you were looking at, is that your mother?”

Hangyul thinks she’s prying too much, but he pays no heed to it and just patiently answers her question out of respect as he delicately works on wrapping the tulips. It’s not every day his customers come and talk to him anyway. He isn’t too comfortable with talking about it yet, but he still replies with a sullen smile, “Yes, she is. She just died last week.”

They both promised to meet up in a week, he and his mother. Hangyul could see how excited she was to meet her son again after years of separation, her eyes twinkling in anticipation, making him look forward to their next meeting, too. She even left him her old photo album in hopes that in the next time they see each other again, they’ll add more pictures in it, then afterwards catch up on each other’s lives. He had a lot of questions to ask and stories to tell, and he definitely could not wait, impatiently counting down the days before he meets her again in the same flower shop. But the universe had different plans for the both of them and let the rain pour and allowed a drunk driver on the highway to ruin what was supposed to be a family reunion. And Hangyul has no one to blame but himself. Why didn’t he search for her earlier? Why didn’t he go to her instead of her to him? If only he picked a different day, if only he picked a different place. If only.

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” the old woman quickly says with a sense of guilt, bony fingers covering her gasp and eyes showing pity. He doesn’t like that look on her face, so he avoids her eyes. “My condolences.”

Hangyul shakes his head, finally tying the ribbon into a lovely bow, “No, it’s fine.”

“You must really miss her a lot.”

“I do. More than I ever did in the past.”

There is no denying that Hangyul loves his parents unconditionally and is very much grateful to be taken in by them, but he could not hide the fact that he still longed to meet his birth mother even throughout all those years. He tries to conceal it, but on some days he just feels a sense of incompleteness because of the past that he is gradually forgetting as he grows older. He could’ve tried searching earlier, but looking for her frightened him so he never did. He thought that if she was already determined to leave him from the start, then she would just reject him again. So he just let the world do its work and just waited for the day where they accidentally meet on the streets, and then he’d decide from there if it is still alright for him to search for his roots depending on the reaction she will give him.

What he has prayed for day and night was finally answered when the fateful day came where they were both in the same room, aware of each other’s presence. It made him regret not looking for her sooner. That missing piece inside him was finally found and in an instant, he felt whole again, and it felt really, _really_ nice. It was a bit awkward at first, but Hangyul found himself just naturally getting used to feeling her presence, just her being there, feeling a sense of comfort seeing even the slightest resemblance of his face in hers despite his mother’s distinct softer features.

It’s funny how the universe has a way of taking back the joy that it once gave you, and in the end, the piece that Hangyul thought he has finally found was lost again, the only thing that links him and his mother together being one single vintage photo album that holds less than ten pictures.

“That would be 18,000 won,” Hangyul says as he hands her the bouquet, perfectly wrapped in paper decorated in different shades of yellow as she had requested in all her past purchases.

While fishing for her purse, the old woman suddenly asks him, “Have you ever tried writing letters to the deceased?”

Surprised by the sudden question, Hangyul raises an eyebrow. Now that he thinks about, he doesn’t remember writing a letter _ever_ in his life.

“No, why?”

“When my husband died a few months ago, I miss him more and more each day, too. It became unbearable. To cope, I wrote to him daily and sent the letters every Friday along with those flowers. He gave me tulips when he proposed,” she says, handing him two 10,000 won bills, again letting him know to keep the change. “Do you know about Heaven’s Mailbox? I don’t know if someone, an angel, I don’t know, actually sends it to our departed loved ones, but just thinking about my husband reading the contents of my letters makes me feel better. You should try it. You’ll never know, maybe your mother will really read it and know that you think about her a lot.”

The old woman flashes Hangyul a sweet smile and he smiles at her back before she turns to strut away and leave the shop with the bouquet in her arms. When the door closed, he goes back to staring at the photo album lying on top of the counter, actually seriously considering the suggestion to send his mother a letter regardless of his doubts that it will ever reach heaven.

Hangyul was raised as a devout Catholic, going to Church on Sundays and receiving the Sacrament of Penance when time permits. The death of his mother faltered his faith to a degree, but he still believed in a God. He believes in The Holy Trinity and in heaven, but he has never thought about angels actually walking on earth, let alone sending anything with a physical form such as letters all the way to heaven. If he’s being honest, he does not think his late mother will receive anything even if he does end up sending her mail. Hangyul deems writing to the dead as a complete waste of time, yet there he sits, in his half-lit room at midnight, composing more letters than he originally thought he was capable of.

It took him a lot of tries before he manages to write something that is mildly satisfying. He tried writing something else, but he could only apologize. He was the one who chose the day and time because that’s the only instance where he isn’t busy from all the rush orders. If he had only chosen a different day, if he had only closed the shop for just one day, then maybe she will still be alive.

When he manages to compose a letter that has less ramblings and more cohesive sentences, he turns off his desk lamp and goes to bed, reminding himself to couple the letter with a bouquet of pink carnations as a sign that he will never forget about her like he did before.

-

Finding the so-called Heaven’s Mailbox is not as hard as Hangyul imagined it to be. In fact, it only took one internet search to locate one tall red mailbox in the middle of a meadow, making him doubt the authenticity of the place even more. He guesses people only really go there to find a way to get through their grief and have a one-sided communication with the dead just like him, and not because they think that the letters will actually be delivered and received by to whom it is addressed.

Hangyul takes in the clean breeze and the scent of fresh green grass before he creaks open the lid and slips his letter inside the red rusty mailbox. He then places pink carnations by the pole and says a silent prayer for his feelings to reach his mother. His chest still feels heavy, but he feels quite a bit better now. He notes to himself to thank that old woman when she comes back next Friday, and maybe convince her to take her change.

As Hangyul starts to walk away from the post, he hears the shuffling of the leaves behind him and turns to see a man with jet black hair almost reaching his eyes. He has a fairer complexion compared to Hangyul’s tan and is much taller and leaner than him, a black sling bag hanging over his broad shoulder. They both quietly look at each other before the stranger breaks eye contact and opens the mailbox to fish out the letters. Hangyul does not say anything at first and just watches him stuff the letters inside his bag until he sees the letter that was supposed to be for his mother. And that’s when it hits him. Who the hell is this guy and what is he doing with all those letters? With _his _letter?

“Excuse me? I don’t think those are yours,” he speaks up as he treads closer to the man. The stranger looks up to him and responds after a few seconds of silence.

“You’re right, they aren’t,” he simply says before going back to what he was doing.

“So why are you taking them?” Hangyul asks in suspicion, already prepared to yank that bag of his and return all those letters back to the mailbox. Has this man got no shame trying to steal even with someone watching?

The man turns on his heels and starts walking away, saying “Please mind your own business.” Downright annoyed, Hangyul follows him and grabs his shoulder, keeping him from taking another step.

“I’m sorry but those aren’t yours so you need to bring those letters back to where it should be,” he firmly tells him, tightening the grip on the man’s shoulder. The man just simply shrugs. He removes Hangyul’s hold on him and just sighs in exasperation.

“Look, I’m just doing my job here so please just run along,” he says, flicking his wrist like Hangyul is some kind of flying insect to shoo away, his voice sounding both tired and irritated.

“Those aren’t for you. What do you possibly gain from stealing other people’s letters? Do you enjoy reading into people’s suffering that much?” Hangyul snaps, eyebrows meeting each other in a tight scowl.

The man rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I deliver these letters, okay? What, you expect these letters to just stay there inside the mailbox collecting dust?”

“Deliver,” Hangyul repeats and scoffs. “To dead people? And you seriously think I believe that?”

Hangyul scrutinizes him, making it obvious he’s looking at him from head to toe to get his point across that, yes, he is petty, and yes, he’s judging this man’s whole existence. The stranger actually looks quite attractive but that’s far from the point. “At least look the part. You’re missing the halo and the angel wings.”

“Haha, very funny,” the man sarcastically remarks. “I’m not yet promoted to that position, so… Anyway, you don’t really have to believe me so I’ll just be on my way and deliver these.”

The man starts walking away again, only to be followed by Hangyul for a second time, and he could only groan in annoyance. It’s actually a surprise that none of them has started throwing hands already at each other.

“Wait! You’re seriously not returning those?”

“Heavens, what part of _this is my job_ don’t you understand?”

“What _exactly _is your job?”

The man turns to him with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’ll explain this very carefully so listen well, okay?” he drawls in a loud voice, putting emphasis on every word and obviously mocking Hangyul’s lack of ability to understand what he has been trying to say from the start. He cannot be blamed though, couriers sending parcels in heaven is not very common. “I am Heaven’s Postman and I deliver these letters to people in heaven. That’s it. Any more questions?”

“So you’re like one of Santa’s little helpers except your boss is God?” Hangyul purses his lips together, trying hard not to laugh at how ridiculous that just sounded. He thinks this man has seriously lost it and he’s starting to feel bad.

“Something like that, yeah.”

Hangyul furrows his eyebrows and just squints his eyes at the man before him, still completely skeptical. This just cannot be real, and if it is, then this person should not be visible to the human eye if he really does work for God. Confused, Hangyul just keeps his eye on him, trying to find a plausible explanation to this situation.

“So can I go now?” the man asks, pointing a thumb behind him. “I’m really on a schedule here and I don’t really want anybody to ruin my perfect track record.”

“Prove it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said prove it. Prove that you’re who you say you are.”

The man exhales through his nose and crosses his arms. He looks up and lets out a little _hmmm._

“Alright,” he agrees with a curt nod. “Close your eyes.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just close them. Open in a count of three. I’ll show you something cool.”

Like a fool, Hangyul really does what he’s told and counts to three, just to see the man already running a distance away from him by the second he opens his eyes. He wants to shout at him, but decides to just let it go, hoping the letter thief will just simply trip over a rock and get a sprain instead. Hangyul glances at the pink flowers still lying behind the post and gets somewhat relieved that the carnations weren’t taken away with the letters. Those are for his mother, not for that thief. And also, that shit is pretty expensive.

\- 

Much to his contempt, Hangyul returns again to that same vast meadow on a Friday afternoon. The old woman who suggested the place asked him for a favor to deliver her letters and tulips in her stead because she had some other business to take care of. Hangyul was just too nice to refuse and couldn’t bring it in him to decline and tell her to ask someone else instead. He lazily makes his way to the red mailbox and if his mood isn’t foul enough, he sees the same man from yesterday sitting beside the post, quietly eating from a pink My Melody lunchbox that is obviously not his. Hangyul raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you steal food, too.”

“You can’t bring food to heaven,” he simply replies back, not bothering to look up at Hangyul. “It tastes good. You want some?”

“And what if it’s poisoned?”

“If I killed someone while on duty, I’d lose the job and go straight to hell. No one wants that.”

Hangyul still does not buy the whole “God’s helper” roleplay but doesn’t argue with him any further. There is no use bickering with this guy. Putting his errand on hold, Hangyul also sits on the grass and watches as the stranger finishes his meal. He does not know why he did that at first; he doesn’t even like the guy. He is just really oddly intrigued by the man’s identity and the gentle but at the same time daunting aura he exudes.

If Hangyul looks at him closely, he can see all the details of his face and how pleasing he actually looks. Soft but also sharp features that makes you feel comfortable just by looking at him. _Like an angel_.

“You’re really not joking?” he probes, still doubtful.

“Why would I lie? God doesn’t like liars and I’m already kind of in desperate need to receive his favor,” the man replies coolly, now stacking the lunch box and slipping it inside a pink bag. Hangyul sees him lift his head up to the sky and cup both his hands on the sides of his mouth. He shouts to the heavens, “Jieun-ah! Your mother made you your favorite mandu! It is _veeery _delicious! Happy birthday!”

He breathes out a satisfied sigh as he rubs his now full stomach in satisfaction.

“You really should’ve tasted that. Really delicious,” Hangyul hears him say while he dusts the dirt off his pants as he stands up to get a stack of letters from the same mailbox. He also pulls out a small bouquet of daffodils held together by a bright yellow ribbon and admires it for a while with a mellow glint in his eyes before placing it on the ground.

“That’s really pretty,” he whispers to himself. “Too bad I can’t bring flowers to heaven. Do you know what flower this is?”

“Daffodils,” Hangyul answers without hesitation. “The sender must have probably written a sad letter.”

“Hm? Why’s that?”

“Daffodils mean unrequited love. You could love someone else, but you can only see one person,” Hangyul explains, pulling the grass in between his feet. He remembers a section of his flower shop that is filled with the yellow exuberance of those flowers, and how people buy it to give to their lovers without knowing the ill-fated meaning attached to it.

“Have you ever been through that?” the man suddenly asks and it takes Hangyul by surprise.

Hangyul just gives him a puzzled look.

“I’m saying have you ever experienced unrequited love?”

Hangyul opens his mouth to answer, but closes it the instant he chooses not to.

“I don’t think we’re that close to share information about our love lives,” he says instead.

“But isn’t it easier to talk about your secrets to strangers because then you know they wouldn’t judge you?”

Hangyul gives him a side eye and bluntly says, “I don’t really trust you, to be honest.” This earns a gasp from the mailman cosplayer as he animatedly feigns getting chest pain, his overly dramatic reaction just being ignored by Hangyul.

“And that flower is…?” the stranger asks innocently, pointing at the bouquet that Hangyul is holding.

“These?” Hangyul holds up the flowers he forgot he was even holding. The man nods. “These are tulips.”

“And that means...?”

“Perfect love. It’s from an old woman to her late husband. You probably know her if you’re really the God’s little helper that you think you are.”

The man’s eyes light up and he claps once, his lips forming a circle. “Oh! The one who always drops by every Friday? I like her. Her letters are really beautifully written. In fact, they’re my favorite. As expected from a retired author. You know she wrote this really great novel that’s about –”

“Wait, you _read _the letters?” Hangyul interrupts Seungyoun’s yapping. That means the man also read _his_ letter. How rude of him to not only steal letters but read them as well. Hangyul felt awfully offended and it should be the least of his priorities now but, oh God, how embarrassing. He didn’t even proofread that.

“Duh? I have to check which ones should be sent or not. And don’t worry, I’m free of judgment.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Look, no one wants to read a nasty letter when they’re already enjoying heaven. Imagine reading death threats when you’re already dead. I don’t know about you, but I’d feel really upset. That’s why I filter them out,” he explains.

“But still…” He’s kind of right, as much as Hangyul hates to admit it, but he still thought it was really ill-mannered of him to read people’s most personal thoughts when it should only be read by its intended recipient only.

Not wanting to argue with him any further, and also thinking that he has spent already a lot of time on the field, Hangyul stands up and prepares to leave. He slips the old woman’s letters inside the mailbox and as he silently picks up his bag, the man notices him about to leave and says his observation out loud, “You’re not sending your own letters today.”

“There’s no need,” Hangyul says. It won’t reach her anyway, and the fact that someone else reads his letter solidifies his opinion on writing to the dead as just a waste of time.

“Writing heals you. I’ve seen a lot of people get over their grief because of it. Trust me, I know,” the taller man flashes him an almost blinding grin. “And don’t worry about your letter not reaching heaven. You have me for that.”

“Thanks,” Hangyul says sarcastically. “Well then, I should probably get going.”

Hangyul lightly places the bouquet of tulips by the side of the pole right next to the daffodils. As he starts taking a walk away, he gets stopped from taking another step by the man next to him.

“Wait!” he shouts, holding Hangyul’s bag to keep him from going elsewhere. “I’d like to make an offer.”

“A what?”

“A job offer.”

“I already have a job,” Hangyul retorts without a second thought, trying to pull his bag towards him but fails as the man keeps his tight grip on it.

“I’ll pay you.” Hangyul doesn’t respond. “10,000 won per hour!”

“Tempting, but no.”

“20,000 won.”

_Oh, right_, Hangyul finally realizes. That man _definitely_ read the letter where Hangyul complained about how having a flower shop does not generate a lot of income lately. Now why the hell did he overshare in that letter anyway?

“I’ll pay you _and_ buy your flowers. Are you in?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Uh… I get to pay you and buy you flowers?” he repeats. “And also you’ll have a good time.”

Hangyul is not the type to be easily convinced, but the way he’s actually thinking of taking up the offer despite being completely suspicious just five minutes ago is giving him a shock of a lifetime.

“This better not be a scam.”

“I told you, didn’t I? I don’t lie.”

“What job are you offering?”

“Well, I was thinking,” he starts with a melodious tone. “Since I can’t deliver flowers to heaven, we can deliver the flowers to the senders themselves! You can help me do some content analysis and choose the perfect flower that will accompany them in this time of grieving. Sounds like a good plan, doesn’t it? We’re like a secret flower service. Isn’t that cool?”

Hangyul purses his lips and thinks hard. It does sound interesting but does he really need an extra job? The bills are paid anyway with or without the help of this man but that automatic vacuum looks really tempting every time it appears in that home shopping channel and he kind of wants to have his hands on it. And also, the way the man talks all so enthusiastically about it makes it even harder for him to refuse.

“If this gets me into trouble –“

“Let’s have deal then. Just work with me for a day. Just one day. And you can decide if you still want to do the job after that. How does that sound?”

“I don’t want to be part of any dirty business,” Hangyul shrugs.

“You don’t have to be worried about that!” the man reassures him with a wide toothless smile, placing his hands on Hangyul’s shoulders.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt…” he gives in and ends up accepting with his eyes closed. He finds it weird - he doesn’t trust him one second and the next he just accepts a sketchy job offer just like that. Like, _what gives_? It’s almost like someone else is making his decisions for him. While he’s there brooding over the thought of getting sucked into a fishy scenario he doesn’t want to play a part in, Hangyul hears the other guy cheer in glee.

“What a pleasure to have established a good business relationship with you, co-worker! I’m Cho Seungyoun, by the way,” he merrily introduces himself with a hand stretched forward for Hangyul shake. And that he did.

“You probably already know, but I’m Lee Hangyul.”

\- 

Hangyul doesn’t know what made him agree to the spontaneous job offer. It’s probably because he is one pay away from getting that automatic vacuum he has always wanted, or maybe it is the way the mailman impostor sold his idea which included delivering flowers to people’s doorsteps; Hangyul loves making people happy through the flowers that he personally grows as much as he does cleaning his workplace and washing his soiled aprons. Or perhaps it’s because spending time with the man he met just a week ago is not as unpleasant as it seems. He knows he isn’t the kind to just accept anything from strangers unless they are those offering free food samples in markets; yet there he is, sitting across Seungyoun peacefully drinking a cup of americano inside his empty flower shop, elegant and fully unbothered.

“I’ve been seriously thinking about it,” Hangyul starts saying. “You really weren’t lying when you’re part of God’s delivery service?”

“The correct job title is Heaven’s Postman, but yes, I wasn’t lying,” Seungyoun answers before he takes another sip.

“So you’re like an angel?”

“Not really.”

“A ghost then?”

“Pretty much.”

Hangyul leans his back on the chair and rubs his chin in confusion.

“But I can see you.”

“You ask too many questions.”

“As I should! You’re really sketchy, you know that?”

“No, I don’t,” Seungyoun nonchalantly answers, placing a bunch of letters on the table. “You can pick anything.”

Hangyul eyes the different kinds of letters scattered on top of the table before reluctantly picking a rosy envelope sealed with golden sealing wax.

“I still don’t feel like it’s right to just read people’s letters,” Hangyul stays hesitant, his thumb tracing over the seal mark.

“That’s our job; we should do it,” Seungyoun he rips open an envelope and pulls out a long letter written in taupe stationery paper. He proceeds to reading its contents silently as Hangyul takes his time before he decides to carefully open the mail. If it’s to help people get over their grief, then maybe this will be okay.

_Dear Minhyuk,_

_This is the third time that I’ve moved out this year. You’ve been telling me to quit this job for years already, knowing that the traveling that it requires has already been taking a toll on my body. I should’ve listened before, but now I can finally say that I am resigning soon. Just a few more months and I can finally settle on a new house permanently._

_You see, every time I move, I still pack and unpack your things and place them in an empty room. Today, I unwrapped your things again as well, and every single time it still doesn’t get easier. I don’t cry anymore, but the ache in my chest is still there. I’m getting old, and my memory is getting weak, so I’m still holding on to these small pieces of you so that I can remember that I am still a mother who had a son that I loved very much and he loved me too. So that I can remember what it feels like to still have you here to tell me silly stories and drive me to the grocery store when we run out of ingredients to our favorite soondubu jigae._

_You must be thinking I’m ridiculous for still doing this, aren’t you? I see you laughing at me desperately trying to keep you alive in my memory but just know that there will come a time that I will finally find peace in knowing that you are gone for good. But I can’t do that yet. I will keep on packing and unpacking your things for now. It’s all that I can do to keep on remembering. I’m sorry for still disappointing you even in death, but know that I’m trying. Oh god, am I trying so hard._

_I miss you, my dear son. I miss you so much and I still love you so dearly._

_\- Your mother_

“Are you crying?” Seungyoun abruptly asks and Hangyul, taken aback, snaps his head back up to look at Seungyoun, just noticing that his eyes are indeed turning misty.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denies, blinking away the tears forming in his eyes. “You’re horrible. I don’t think I can read more of this.”

“What’s it about?” Seungyoun asks, ignoring Hangyul’s whining.

“A mother to his son,” he says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “She wrap and unwraps his belongings like he’s just on a trip or something and will return by daybreak.”

“Why, does it sound familiar?”

“It reminds me of myself, I guess…” he remembers the old photo album hidden inside one of his drawers, the threads holding it together getting more and more worn out by every turn of its pages. “Except I only have a single thing to remind my mother of.”

“Who cares about how many things the dead has left behind for you? As long as they’re alive in your memory, one or a million objects that remind you of them doesn’t matter. You know what they say, the life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.”

Hangyul snickers. “Now where did you read that?”

“Oh, you don’t know how many death quotes I have memorized because of the letters I deliver. They are very poetic if I must say,” Seungyoun quips and Hangyul just chuckles lightly, appreciating Seungyoun’s efforts in trying to lift up the mood. In a second, he watches as Seungyoun crumples a letter unapologetically and throws it in the trash. He could only look in shock as the ball of rumple lands smoothly into the bottom of a trash bin.

“Hate mail,” Seungyoun says before Hangyul could even ask what was that for. He lifts his head up and looks at Hangyul with the same bright, sparkling eyes Hangyul is starting to get familiar with. “So, what flowers should we send the mother?”

\- 

They arrive before a small house just two bus rides away. Seungyoun places a small bouquet of rosemary on the cemented doorstep, also leaving a note that says _Rosemary means loyalty and remembrance. Please don’t be so hard on yourself and lose a part of you in the process of getting over sorrow. Let time heal you._

“I hope she receives it well. Rosemary smells really good so I hope it calms her down even for a little bit,” Hangyul mutters to himself. While he is in the middle of being in his own set of thoughts, the sound of the doorbell snaps him away from self-reflection and Seungyoun immediately pulls him away from the lot.

“What are you doing –“

“Shhh, just watch.”

Hiding from a bricked wall, the two of them watches as a tall and chic woman, presumably in her early fifties, steps out from the door and looks in all directions to find who just rang the doorbell. It isn’t too long before she sees a bouquet of flowers lying in front of her shoes. Tears start streaming down her face when she reads the small note, gripping it tightly as she sobs uncontrollably.

“She doesn’t look pleased,” Hangyul whispers worriedly.

“Wait for it.”

The mother leaves from their sight and goes back inside her house, leaving the gate open. She comes back with a piece of note in her hands and leaves it in replacement of the bouquet by her doorstep. Once Hangyul squints his eyes even more to see clearly, he could make up a small smile on her face before she returns back inside in grace.

“How did you know this is going to happen?” Hangyul asks when they retrieve the note the lady just left. It doesn’t say much, just the words spelling _Thank you. _written in cursive.

“When you’ve been in this line of work for years you can see that the cries people let out are all different though they look the same – happy tears, sad tears, relieved tears, shocked tears – all different kinds of tears. She looked very relieved to me. After suppressing her tears for so long, she finally let them out,” states Seungyoun, pulling Hangyul’s sleeve to tell him that it’s time for them to leave.

“So you’ve done this before. Sending notes.”

“Not very often but I do some of their requests, like feed a pet they left behind and bring them to an animal shelter. But I usually just see them crying when they send the letters. Anyway, here’s your pay!” Seungyoun chirps, pulling out a small brown envelope from his bag. “As promised.”

“You weren’t joking…?” Hangyul says taking the envelope and peaking inside to see real money. “You weren’t joking.”

“You still don’t trust me, do you?,” Seungyoun retorts with a smirk, his smiling eyes turning into beautiful crescents that Hangyul can’t keep himself from staring. He thinks he’s really beautiful; can be a pain in the ass, but still beautiful. He doesn’t know what triggered it, but he wants to see more of Seungyoun. Maybe he was tired of feeling lonely, tired of being at the same place every single day, tired of the same old routine. Seungyoun is something new, a breath of fresh air, and Hangyul could really use someone like him right now.

“Are we seeing each other tomorrow, too?” he doesn’t mean to say it, but it just suddenly comes out of his mouth that it even surprises him. He hears Seungyoun laugh.

“Not if you don’t want to,” he says with the biggest gummy smile.

“I mean those letters don’t read themselves,” Hangyul says, barely saving himself from stuttering.

“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, Hangyul.”

When they parted on the second bus station, Hangyul spends the rest of his day waiting for the morning.

\- 

_Dear Sooji,_

_How have you been? It has been over 20 years now and I still cannot bring myself to forget how painful it was to lose you. It’s all my fault and if I can do anything or give anything in exchange to bring back time, then I would. We should have not went to the beach on that day, and I should not have let you swim all by yourself. It’s all my fault and I wish you could forgive me. I’m sorry you never got to even finish primary school. I’m sorry you never got to form the best friendships on the best years of your life. I’m sorry you never got to feel the rush of teenage rebellion, sneaking through late nights just to join cute slumber parties. I’m sorry you never got to have the chance to have your own goals and feel how good it is to reach for your dreams. I’m sorry you never got to experience how it feels to fall in love, to get married, and to feel the joy of having a child of your own. I’m really, really sorry. Know that there is not a single day where I don’t love and miss you. I hope you visit in my dreams soon so I can apologize in person. I’m so sorry all I could ever do is apologize and hope you can forgive me for not giving you a future where you’re happy._

“I think I’m seeing a pattern here,” Hangyul says with teary eyes again, putting down the letter and jabbing a finger on it. “This is the fifth letter that I read from a mother to her dead child. You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seungyoun mumbles impassively, completely uninterested with whatever Hangyul is saying. “You picked those letters yourself.”

Hangyul looks at him suspiciously and shoots him a glare. “You’re really so hard to trust.”

“And yet you still do,” Seungyoun points out, looking at him with a sly smile. “Think about it. Those letters might be telling you something.”

“So you’re really doing this on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seungyoun repeats himself, feigning ignorance. His lips is covered by the letter that he is reading, but Hangyul could see him smiling with the way his eyes slightly curl upward. And for some reason, that makes Hangyul smile too.

The weeks pass by just like that – the two of them silently reading letters in the morning and delivering flowers in the afternoon. Seungyoun still lets Hangyul read letters written by mothers to their children, and letters by children to their mothers, and it reminds him of his mother each and every time. He still regrets a lot of things – regrets that he didn’t try his best to search for her before, regrets for prioritizing his work over meeting his mother, regrets for despising her his whole childhood without knowing her side of the story – and he still blames himself for not fulfilling his role of her son to the very end. He feels sorry that her last moment with him is so short that one whole stay in the cinemas is longer than that, he feels sorry that they could have done much more. Despite all that, he’s still very grateful for Seungyoun’s efforts in trying to make him feel like he isn’t the only one suffering from grief, not the only one with a gaping hole in his chest.

On their way back after another day of flower deliveries, Hangyul prays that Seungyoun won’t end up noticing he’s stealing glances of him during the whole bus ride. With his eyes closed and rosy lips slightly apart, Hangyul finds it absolutely crazy how one can look this good while sleeping. He has seen stolen photos of himself asleep thanks to his friends and he _never _looks like this. Seungyoun’s head is leaning on the window and Hangyul finds it cute whenever he frowns in his sleep as his head hits the glass when the ride goes bumpy. Hangyul wanted to rest his head on his shoulder instead but decided not to, and just laughs when Seungyoun complains of a headache the second he wakes up.

Usually, Seungyoun just hands him his work pay before they bid their goodbyes and then they’ll see each other again the next day. But unlike most days, Hangyul doesn’t feel like parting just yet.

“Do you… do you want to drink some coffee before you go?” he blurts out all of a sudden before Seungyoun turns on his heels. Hangyul feels his ears getting hot and he just hopes it won’t get noticeably red or he would just be even more embarrassed. The stuttering is enough to get him feeling bashful.

Seungyoun glances at his wristwatch and gives him a nod. “One cup won’t hurt.”

By mornings Hangyul’s flower shop is painted in different colors of the diverse flowers placed in different corners of the room. But in late afternoons, it’s dyed in golden colors similar to supermarket oranges. Coupled with the fresh scent of flowers in bloom, it’s comforting, and especially therapeutic to whoever steps in. The door opens with the tinkling sound of the wind chimes and Hangyul comes rushing to the coffee maker by the end of the room to brew Seungyoun and him a hot drink.

“I could make a number of guesses but I would never imagine you to be the type to work in a flower shop,” Seungyoun makes a comment, observing the flowers adorning each shelf they are placed in and delicately touching the soft petals of the nearby pinkish peonies.

“I get that a lot,” Hangyul says in a louder voice for him to be heard from across the room. If he gets a penny every time someone mentions how his outer appearance is far from that of a florist, whatever that means, he would have bought land in Gangnam already. He used to be bothered by how he initially scares of some potential customers, but great thing his beautiful flowers make up for it.

Hangyul cannot much get what Seungyoun tried to say afterwards with the way his teaspoon hits the rims of the mug as he stirs the newly brewed coffee, but he manages to piece some words together, hoping he doesn’t get it wrong.

“But now that I’ve seen it up close, it actually matches you,” he thinks he says.

Hangyul enjoys the silence when he’s with Seungyoun. Even during their earlier encounters, it never was awkward to the point that he is seriously questioning whether he has already met him before, sometime in the past. Never awkward, never unpleasant. Just tranquil air surrounding them both as their minds travel to places they only know. And when Seungyoun breaks that silence, Hangyul is sure to divert all his attention back to him.

“Have you always wanted to be a florist?” he asks with childlike eyes curiously peeking through his lashes to look at Hangyul.

“I’ve always liked flowers, but it was only later that I realized I wanted a job that required growing them and being closer to them as they bloom to when they wither. It’s kind of funny and weird, but they remind me of myself. Not in a narcissistic way, by the way.”

“How so?”

“We rarely sell potted plants, and mainly sell bouquets. Flowers taken from their roots but still serving its purpose, I can relate to a degree. You know, as an orphan.”

“I know,” Seungyoun chuckles, but not in an offensive way, having read his letter. “And they’re beautiful, too.”

Hangyul wordlessly nods as he takes a sip. Seungyoun pouts.

“I said they’re beautiful, too,” he repeats again.

“I heard you.”

“I meant they’re as beautiful as you, too.”

In spite of his utmost efforts in trying to save face all up to now, Hangyul chokes on his hot coffee, wondering if his heart is palpitating due to it or because of an entirely different reason.

“Stop kidding around.”

“Haven’t I already told you, Hangyul? I don’t lie,” Seungyoun says before he takes a sip of his coffee, a smile never leaving his lips.

How can he say that so cheekily without an ounce of shame? Hangyul was able to keep himself together all up to this point but now he doesn’t even know where to position his hands and where to look.

Hangyul doesn’t respond and keeps that disgusted look on his face. Never has it been easy for him to take compliments. It’s not that he doesn’t like them, he actually appreciates it, but he doesn’t know how to react to it. So he just pretends like he didn’t hear anything coming from Seungyoun and just apathetically takes in his coffee. He wants to let Seungyoun know he’s just as beautiful as the flowers too, and maybe even more. With the pots of camellias and irises by their side, it’s no surprise to see Seungyoun outmatch their beauty singlehandedly, especially with the way the soft orange light from the sunset plays on his hair and skin. As a florist, Hangyul can say Seungyoun puts all of these flowers to shame. And that says something.

“Hangyul,” Seungyoun calls out and Hangyul immediately snaps out of his trance. “What’s that called?”

Following the direction Seungyoun’s finger is pointing at, Hangyul sees a particular floral arrangement stored inside the shop’s refrigerator, the calming blue petals standing out among the overpowering red roses kept in the same fridge that was recently reserved by a wedding planner.

“Those are forget-me-nots,” Hangyul answers.

“Huh. So those are what they look like. Like the sky with the sun in the middle,” Seungyoun says, admiring the flowers from afar. “I like it.”

“That’s 25,000 won,” Hangyul says, jokingly opening his palm and Seungyoun quickly swats it away with a chuckle, “Forget it. I guess its meaning is self-explanatory?”

“That, and it also means true love.”

“Hm, cool.”

When the light flooding the room turns from golden to deep orange, Seungyoun finishes the last drop of his coffee.

“I should probably get going,” Seungyoun says after a few minutes, sliding the scattered open letters on the table back into his bag.

“Right, sorry for taking your time.”

The taller man chuckles and shakes his head, his soft hair bouncing at every movement. “No, I enjoyed it. Coffee was great. You should think about starting up a cafe business one of these days.”

“Then you better be my first customer,” Hangyul says, earning a smile that he cannot seem to understand. Seungyoun parts his lips to say something but closes them in an instant.

“We’ll see about that,” Seungyoun ends up saying, too softly like the wind can easily hum it away. Hangyul knows he was just about to agree but stopped himself from doing so. Seungyoun’s words hold weight that it stings quite a bit, because if there is something that Seungyoun can’t do, it’s that he can’t lie.

“Seungyoun,” Hangyul calls out once Seungyoun steps out the door. When Seungyoun turns over his shoulder Hangyul could see him in all his wonderful glory all soaked under the golden hue of the setting sun, crescent eyes turning into lovely bronze. Seungyoun blinks, but Hangyul can see it all in slow motion - the slow drooping of Seungyoun’s eyes, the fluttering of his smooth jet black hair, the corners of his lips pulling to the ends across his face to form a wide straight smile, and tiny dimples appearing on fair smooth skin. He prays everything to just be in slow motion, so he could spend as much time with him as he pleases. He has been ignoring it for too long but right now, Hangyul can say that he has really gone completely crazy.

“Yeah?”

“You’ll come again tomorrow?” Hangyul hates how that sounded desperate but it’s probably because he is_._

“If that is okay with you,” Seungyoun replies, flashing a sheepish grin.

“I’ll see you then.”

“See you, Hangyul.”

Hangyul watches Seungyoun walk away in the direction of the sun dipping to the ends of the streets. He doesn’t know why, but every time they part, he feels like he won’t come around the next time. These days Seungyoun is the only one making him forget the pain of loss, and if he leaves, he knows he is going to feel the same old sense of misdirection and loneliness again. Aside from the obvious chatty outbursts, just being with Seungyoun distracts Hangyul from the myriad things he wants to escape from. Nothing makes him dread anything more than going back to the place where there is nothing but just an old photo album to remind him of his mother and of the past that he just cannot seem to remember no matter how hard he tries. Those pictures of a young boy with a genuine smile across his face looks so familiar, but he does not know who that is.

-

The next day Seungyoun leads the way, very much different from them looking for directions in Naver Maps and arguing which station they’d go off at and which block they’d turn to. It seems like Seungyoun knows the place by heart by the way he easily navigates the area and without any trouble, they end up standing before a yellow gate.

“You seem to be familiar with the place,” Hangyul muses, placing a bouquet of blue rainflowers on top of a mailbox too little for it to fit in.

“I know the couple,” Seungyoun simply says.

The letter was from an old man to his late wife, the blue rainflowers symbolizing the day he saw her for the first time and immediately fell in love with the way she beautifully stood under the rain. It was a beautifully written letter, poetic and personal, words light yet containing depth just like endless drops of rain during light rain showers.

“Doesn’t the letter make you want to fall in love, too?” Seungyoun asks out of the blue. “Because it sure had me feeling things.”

“You’ve never experienced that before?”

“Never had the chance to,” Seungyoun replies. “Have you?”

“Yeah, didn’t really end well,” Hangyul says, remembering that short romance with a guy named Yohan who was too focused on his taekwondo trainings to show up on their scheduled dates. He’s very successful right now, and Hangyul thinks it might’ve been for the best for them both to just accept the breakup or the relationship would just end up forced and toxic.

“Do you want to try again?” Seungyoun’s soft voice plays on Hangyul’s ears and it gets him all kinds of fucked up. He thinks about it, and he thinks about it hard.

Being in love is not easy, but he thinks that if it’s Seungyoun, then it wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe, he’s already falling for him little by little, with the way his heart flutters when they accidentally look at each other, the way his hands ache from trying so hard to keep himself from holding his hand when they are walking side by side, and the way he just wants time to stop whenever they’re together. He feels like if it is Seungyoun, then he might as well try.

“Yes,” he answers in a whisper.

When they both return back to Hangyul’s little flower shop, Hangyul does not invite Seungyoun for another cup of coffee. Instead, he asks him to wait behind the door as he fetches something from inside. What awaited Seungyoun makes his eyes widen in surprise.

“You didn’t tell me there’s still one more delivery?” he scratches his head as one eyebrow arches in confusion.

“It’s for you, idiot,” Hangyul remarks, placing a bouquet of delicate forget-me-nots into Seungyoun’s arms. “Since you like it so much.”

“Wait, really? I – This –“ Seungyoun stumbling over his words makes Hangyul chuckle, not being so used to seeing him so at a loss for words. “Thank you, Hangyul, you really didn’t need to – I mean, not that I don’t want it or anything… It’s just I can’t –“

“Bring it to heaven I know,” Hangyul finishes his sentence for him, amused at the fact that it’s the first time he sees Seungyoun this flustered. He doesn’t really mind, he just wants to give it to him.

“- Express how happy this makes me,” Seungyoun completes his own sentence, looking lovingly at the tiny blues in his arms. “Nobody has given me anything till this point. I can’t thank you enough.”

For a split second, Hangyul sees sadness in his eyes before Seungyoun blinks it away and the familiar cheerful crescents appear on his face once more. Seungyoun’s words doesn’t lie, but Hangyul wonders if his expressions don’t as well.

“It’s the least that I could do,” Hangyul says and waves at him goodbye, smiling at him and Seungyoun smiles back. He watches as the postman turns to leave but then sees him running back.

“Did you forget something?”

“Yeah, I just want to ask… you’re not fooling me, right? I don’t have to fish out 25,000 won for this, right? Just want to make sure because I don’t want to get too ahead of myself and think you’re doing this out of good will,” he says too quickly he almost sounded like he was rapping. It makes Hangyul burst in laughter.

“No, that’s completely yours. _For free_.”

“Oh, thank God,” Seungyoun sighs in relief. “And one more thing,” he follows up.

“What is it this time?”

“Can I kiss you?”

_Can he what who now?_

Hangyul blinks his eyes. After a few more blinks, he blinks again, and again, and again, getting even more confused when he sees the same Seungyoun standing in front of him every time his eyes flutters open. His ears turn all hot and red and he suddenly just starts praying and threatening God to come down from heaven so that he could square him the hell up for treating his feelings as a joke and subjecting him to such delusion.

“I’m sorry, did I hear that right?”

It was a stupid question and Hangyul wants to hit himself for it but what can he do? He just wants to confirm if he isn’t that deaf man he has always thought he was. Seungyoun hides his face with the bouquet he was holding and drones like a child.

“I’m already embarrassed enough and you’re making me repeat myself again?!”

“I was just making sure!”

“Yes, you heard it right. So are you letting me kiss you or not?” Seungyoun sounds threatening, but the way he’s still hiding his face with the bouquet and his pink ears peeking out is telling a different story. Seungyoun, who has been very forward all up until now, cowering behind a small bouquet was something Hangyul didn’t know he needed, and in all honesty, he enjoys the sight of another side of him. Just like that, he wishes he could show his vulnerable side too so that Hangyul can give him the same comfort that Seungyoun gives to him.

Hangyul moves away the bouquet of forget-me-nots from Seungyoun’s face and slowly brings his face closer to his.

“Go ahead,” he says, giving the man before him his permission.

He has his eyes closed but he feels Seungyoun inch closer and closer until soft lips meet his. It is only a gentle press, a simple peck that didn’t even last for more than five seconds but it sends Hangyul’s heart throbbing so hard that it _hurt_. Seungyoun pulls away in an instant and clears his throat, suddenly bashful and completely red.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “I feel like I wouldn’t stop if I kept going.”

At that point Hangyul decides to just risk it all. He pulls Seungyoun gently by the chin and whispers, “Then keep going.”

None of them knows who kissed who first but that barely matters. What matters is how Hangyul feels like finally there’s someone out there capable of making him whole again, like a random puzzle piece from an entirely different jigsaw puzzle set, unexpectedly completing the whole picture. What matters is how he feels like he couldn’t be anywhere else but there, under the spell of Cho Seungyoun, hands gently caressing the back of his head and feeling his soft hair in his fingertips, kissing him tenderly, desperately, as their bodies press onto each other further. Seungyoun’s deep kisses makes Hangyul melt into him, the strength in his legs fading as each second passes.

What comes after is just heady bliss. For Hangyul, every moment spent with Seungyoun is a time spent in heaven.

-

“I have something for you,” Seungyoun says to Hangyul after he finishes the cup of tea that Hangyul has prepared from him. He hands him a letter covered in a scented envelope, sealed messily with tape.

“What’s this?” Hangyul takes the mail from him and examines it, noticing a familiar name written on the back.

“Is this…”

“Addressed to your mother. Thought it would be best for you to read it.”

Hangyul unhurriedly undoes the sealing and pulls out a paper also scented, smelling like fresh soap and dewdrops in the morning.

_To my lovely daughter,_

_How are you, my child? I was told that writing letters will help me get over that immense sadness from losing you, and just had the strength to finally write it today. I prayed for you day and night, but thought I should also send you one since you’ve always loved receiving things that remind you of your family._

_To be honest, I didn’t waited for you that day. I thought that finally, you get to spend a lot of time with Hangyul, like you’ve always dreamed of after suffering from that difficult decision to let him go. Wanting for you to come back home quickly seemed very selfish of me, since I too know what a mother feels._

_On the day you left Hangyul on the orphanage, you cried to sleep every single night it was so painful to watch. It wasn’t easy, but it was a brave, and selfless decision. I’m so sorry I lacked so much as a mother to not give you enough resources to raise him on your own. It’s a pity that you had only met him once after that, but I know… I just know you were the happiest person in the world when you finally met with your own flesh and blood. All those years you’ve mustered enough courage to face your son, go against your fears of facing rejection, and seek to look for him… know that none of it is in vain. I don’t blame time for taking you, because I know you’d risk all odds just to see him anyway. It took a lot to finally gather courage to see your son, and for that I am proud of you._

_I hope Hangyul does not blame himself for anything. None of it is his fault. Continue looking after him from heaven, okay? I’ll see you there soon, I promise. I love you and I miss you. Every day. Every single day._

_PS - Thank you for giving him that photo album. Isn’t he cute as a child? I wonder how much he has grown. He must be as good looking as you. It might not be anything special, but I’m glad that in a degree, he can finally picture the people from his past. I’m just glad that I was there too._

Hangyul sees his vision being blurred, and realizes it’s because of tears forming in his eyes. Rather than a letter to his mother, it seemed like a letter for him, a letter intended to piece the cracks of his heart back together, a letter telling him to finally let go, a letter telling him to stop blaming himself for things beyond his control.

Seungyoun quietly slides a clean handkerchief towards him and Hangyul wordlessly takes it and starts wiping away his tears.

“Don’t blow on it though,” Seungyoun attempts to joke around, successfully making Hangyul laugh between sobs.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Hangyul cusses, sniffing while he wipes his eyes with Seungyoun’s handkerchief. “Let’s go visit grandma.”

-

Meeting up with his grandmother was like meeting someone that he has known for forever. It was pleasant and comfortable, and Hangyul really enjoyed seeing his grandmother dote on Seungyoun like he is also part of the family. And if he guesses it correctly, Seungyoun looks like he had a great time too. He found out a bunch of things that he didn’t know from childhood, and it made him learn more about himself. Other than that, he can confirm that her mother’s favorite flower is indeed a sunflower, while his grandmother loves orchids, which is obvious with the vases of different kinds of orchids adorning each shelf and table present in the house. He now knows where his love for flowers, aside from its personal significance, comes from. When time came for them to bid their goodbyes, Hangyul promised to come back with a fresh delivery of orchids, and she thanked him for the lovely bouquet of yellow tulips that honors her positive outlook on things.

“Thank you,” Hangyul says to Seungyoun on the way home. “Really, thank you.”

“I was just doing my job,” Seungyoun says, smiling warmly at him. “How are you?”

“Better than ever, I guess,” Hangyul answers, feeling the weight being lifted off from his chest as the second passes. “Thanks to you.”

Seungyoun laughs heartily. “That’s great to hear. Your mother would love to see you happy.”

“And that I will be, little by little,” Hangyul looks up to the streaks of clouds floating in the vast blue above their heads. He realizes that what kept him from moving on was because he couldn’t stop thinking of what could’ve been, couldn’t help thinking of the what ifs. He begins to understand that he kept on beating himself up because just as he keeps on letting himself get hurt over what happened, he keeps grounding himself regretting over what never will. He stopped moving forward, and it kept him stuck in the past, just like before.

“On second thought,” Hangyul begins to say, having made up his mind. “I’d write another letter to her after all.” _For the very last time._

_-_

Hangyul and Seungyoun meet the next day on the same vast field, the cold breeze enveloping them as they walk towards each other. Hangyul, balancing bouquets of sunflowers and forget-me-nots, hands Seungyoun the letter with his free hand and watches as the postman slips it into his bag without taking a peek.

“You’re not going to read it?”

“I don’t need to.”

“Oh,” Hangyul lets out, giving Seungyoun another bouquet of forget-me-nots. “This is for you, as a sign of my thanks.”

“Thank you,” Seungyoun says, unusually sounding a bit off compared to the past few days. Hangyul looks at him intently, noticing nothing unusual to worry over except for the same obscure sadness painted in his eyes. It comes and goes, sometimes it’s there, sometimes it’s not, and today as Hangyul looks at him every time, it doesn’t fade away.

“Are you okay?” he asks worriedly.

“What do you mean? I’m fine.”

“I just have a feeling you might not be,” Hangyul mutters, placing an assuring hold on his shoulder. “You can tell me.”

Seungyoun beams at him, the same smile that Hangyul wonders if it’s even real or not. Hangyul realizes Seungyoun was always there for him, but he was never there to listen to Seungyoun’s woes. It would really be nice, he thinks, if Seungyoun can lean on him, too.

“There’s nothing to tell. I’m happy with you here. Shall we get to reading?”

Hangyul chooses to not force it out of him.

One letter’s address was situated rather farther away than all the previous locations, and Hangyul takes it as a gift, spending the hours of travel holding hands with Seungyoun in the train and stealing chaste kisses every now and then. If only time can stand still and let them savor the moment as much as they want. Hangyul takes this as an opportunity to learn more about Seungyoun, about his life before he works sending letters to the deceased as a job. He learns that Seungyoun was the only son to a wealthy family, his favorite food is stir-fried spicy pork, he dislikes mint chocolate with a passion, and apparently has the best taste in music. Seungyoun doesn’t have a phone to send him a playlist, so all he did was tell Hangyul song recommendations in which he hurriedly types in his phone’s notes, reminding himself to check out the songs once he arrives back home.

After they personally left a basket of bright yellow dandelions on a house’s front porch, they stop by in a nearby cafe, Hangyul not forgetting to snap pictures of every scenery they come across with, capturing pictures of Seungyoun when he’s not looking, unguarded, and strikingly beautiful.

“Your coffee tastes better,” Seungyoun remarks, grimacing. Hangyul laughs.

“I’ll make you one later,” he tells him, enjoying the same coffee despite it really tasting too bitter for his liking. He doesn’t really mind, as long as Seungyoun is there. “Say, Seungyoun…”

“What is it?”

“I really like it…”

“Don’t act humble, this shit is disgusting.”

“No, I meant, I like it. I like being with you. I like it when things are like this,” Hangyul says, smiling against his mug, heart fluttering against his chest.

“Oh… Oh, that took me quite aback,” Seungyoun covers his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes and mumbling “I’m suddenly shy.” more than once. Hangyul throws a crumpled tissue to his face.

“Shut up, I was being serious!”

“I know, dummy,” Seungyoun says in between chuckles, “I like it too. All a bit too much,” Seungyoun removes his hands from his face and props an elbow up to rest his cheek on his palm, gazing right at Hangyul charmingly. “I wish time would just stop.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Hangyul dreams about it too, in more times than he can imagine. Yet time never does, never has it been, not by the way it has been treating him in all these years.

When Hangyul chooses to cover the bill, in spite of Seungyoun’s willingness to do it instead, he leaves the table briefly to pay directly at the counter. Slipping the receipt into his wallet, he leaves the cafe after noticing Seungyoun not already by the cafe table.

“Seungyoun, let’s go…” Hangyul says as he steps out of the door frame but his words trail off when he doesn’t see Seungyoun among the people standing by the cafe and walking through the sidewalk. Repeatedly turning his head to every direction, his heart starts racing in an unimaginably painful pace, his breathing getting jagged. _This cannot be, not again_. He calls for Seungyoun more than once, like he was looking for a lost child, except the one lost isn’t Seungyoun, but him. His vision gradually turns hazy as he kept on looking, so he flounders back to the cafe to rest and lean his body on the cold hard glass. When he thinks he has calmed himself down to a degree, Hangyul turns to look into the café once more and sees a familiar man sitting at the same table they were at just a few minutes ago.

Perplexed, Hangyul swings the door open and walks towards him slowly, thinking if he’s actually imagining things now.

“Did you… go to the bathroom or something?” he asks stupidly, secretly hoping all this time he was just being overly dramatic for no apparent reason, yet his expectations get quickly shut down when Seungyoun replies, “I never left the table.”

“Then how…”

“Hangyul, you’re starting to move on.”

The silence afterwards was deafening, a lump forming in Hangyul’s throat.

“No… This is crazy. You were just there,” Hangyul breathes out. “Let’s talk outside.”

Hangyul pulls Seungyoun’s sleeve and tugs him out of the cafe. He takes his time to look straight into his eyes, the melancholic gloom appearing the most evident today.

“What just happened?”

“Only people who suffer from grief can see me. When you wrote that letter to your mother and had it posted, you decided to finally let go.”

“Then give me back my damn letter!” Hangyul cries out, clutching Seungyoun’s sleeves tightly.

“That won’t undo anything.”

“Then tell me what to do! I can’t lose anyone again. Not you, not again,” he struggles to keep his tears from falling, and when they start to fall, he places his head on Seungyoun’s chest in an attempt to keep his face hidden. “Why me? Why does it always have to be me? Why can’t I just be happy?”

Seungyoun doesn’t say anything and just lets Hangyul sob against his chest.

“You said you like it. You said you like spending time with me.”

“I’m sorry, Hangyul.”

“So that’s just it?” Hangyul asks weakly, head still hung low. “Soon you’ll just completely fade away and that’s _it_?”

“I’m sorry.”

Sick of hearing Seungyoun apologize, Hangyul pulls away from his tight grip on him and just stands a few steps away from him. He still had a lot of things he wants to do with Seungyoun, still wants to walk by his side, still wants to feel his fingers intertwined with his, still wants to surprise him with flowers, still wants to steal kisses from him and hug him from the back, heck, he wants to kiss him _right now_. Hangyul still wants, no, he still _needs_ to be held like he was someone’s most cherished person.

“I like you, Seungyoun. So, _so_ much. Is there really no way we can try to make this work?”

“I’m sorry, Hangyul, but there’s nothing that I – we can do.”

Hangyul puffs out an exasperated sigh, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“I’m willing to try everything that I can. Are you?”

“You don’t understand –“

“You’re right! I don’t!” Hangyul cries out, his throat already hurting from keeping himself from weeping again, wanting to scream at him to stay. His nails dig deeper into his skin as he clenches his fists even tighter. He doesn’t know what it is that is making his heart beat so violently. Is it sadness? Anger? Fear? Is it everything all at once? He doesn’t know. What he does know, however, is that if Seungyoun is willing to let him go just like that, just like everything that they had was nothing but a simple past time, then it might be for the best to not hold on things that were meant to leave in the end anyway.

Hangyul looks straight into Seungyoun’s eyes, hollow and impassive. He’s shaking with whatever it is that is making him feel like wanting to hurl but he tries his best to stay firm on the ground. When Seungyoun doesn’t speak, Hangyul knows. The silence, once his safe haven, tells him a lot of things, one of them convincing him to just let go. Let go even if it is painful. Let go even if it is killing him.

“Okay,” he breathes out, releasing all the air restricted in his lungs. “It was really a pleasure working with you. Thank you for everything up until now.”

“Hangyul –“

“Keep it. For once, Seungyoun, I wish you could’ve given me a lie.”

He tries to tell himself that this will make things easier for him in the long run. Save himself for another loss. Save himself from another heartache. For it is better to forgo relief than keep someone who is not willing to try.

It’s the same feeling that Hangyul has grown to familiarize with all too well. The ache from what just happened, and the painful longing for what never will. So it’s just like that in the end – two souls crossing paths but never ending up again together. Just another tragic story to tell a random customer when they ask him why he is crying while watering his plants. Just another memory to keep reliving in daydreams and sleepless nights.

When Hangyul walks away, it eventually dawns on him that Seungyoun never told him he felt the same way.

-

There’s nothing like a garden contained in a small room that is soaked by the golden hues of the late afternoon sun, welcoming and kind. Hangyul comes back alone to the flower shop after visiting his grandmother and leaving her a small vase of his promised beautiful orchids, already getting used to how things were like before. Before his mother happened and before Seungyoun came into the picture. He still looks at the photo album from time to time, but not anymore with feelings of guilt and remorse. He wishes he could have done the same and compile all his photos of Seungyoun in another brand new photo album, but his face, his whole existence, has also entirely disappeared from all the pictures he has taken from his phone. Hangyul still listens to the songs Seungyoun likes, and he still grows his forget-me-nots despite it all.

While tidying up the counter, he sees a letter lying on top of his other notebooks, nothing inscribed on the envelope. His first reaction is to check his cash register to see if any money has been stolen because _who the fuck just barges in a closed flower shop?_ They don’t even get that much customers to begin with. He proceeds to open the letter when he examines not a single penny missing from his store’s income for the day, rejecting every thought crossing his mind telling him that it is from the only person he wishes to cross paths with again.

_Hangyul,_

_First of all, I’m sorry for trespassing. Don’t worry, I didn’t steal anything. I don’t really want this letter to remain unread along with all those other ads kept in your mailbox. When’s the last time you checked your mail anyway? Wait, I was going somewhere with this so let me start again._

_I’ve read a thousand of letters in my years of service to the Lord but not one of it has prepared me for this, to be honest. It’s my first time to write a letter so I apologize in advance if I may sound insincere._

_It has been a month since you last saw me, and I’ve been avoiding you since then even though you cannot see me anymore. I was hoping to just forget you, just like the other people that I met before, but I still end up thinking of you every single day. I know you’re mad at me and I don’t blame you for feeling that way. We didn’t really part in good terms, and I regret a lot for not clearing things up on that day. You deserved some closure and I’m sorry this is the only thing that’s close enough to that. I I’m sorry that I couldn’t do something about it. Trust me, I could try, but I’ll still have no power to change how people see me, and how my job works. There’s really no chance I could against the rules of heaven. I couldn’t risk it, because if I go against protocol, then I may not truly be given the chance to see you again. For now, I could only wait for what it has in store for me. For us. _

_I should’ve told you it wasn’t a permanent thing, this job of mine. I guess it never really crossed my mind whenever I’m with you. I only remember that everything is really temporary when we part ways. As someone who lives through borrowed time, I should’ve never forgotten the fact that everything has a due date. I’m sorry. I should’ve given you a work contract when you agreed to my offer, huh? Haha, just kidding. (I’m actually very serious, please don’t stop reading :c )_

_At the start, I was only kidding around with the job offer. I was just really, really bored. Spending the afterlife sending letters back and forth is a very boring job, and you were just the right person to kill time with. It was selfish. For that, I’m sorry. I actually didn’t know you’d accept that easily. When you said you wanted to continue delivering flowers with me, I was surprised but also really happy. I didn’t know you’re actually a fun person to be with. I even expected you to just quit. But you never did. Thank you for that. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting much from the start, but then I slowly ended up waiting till the day breaks so that I can see you again. I started seeing you as a friend, as a partner, and slowly you were starting to be more than that._

_I wish I could convince God to extend my stay just so I can see you for a much longer time, but that’s quite impossible. Despite our limited time together, I’m really thankful that you were there with me, and I do cherish all those memories. It was really fun. Thank you, Hangyul, for putting up with me. I’m aware of how reckless I am with my words and how I use humor to get through the worst situations, but you always joined me with the clownery. Thanks to you, I could do a lot of things that I’ve always wanted to do when I was still alive. Thank you for making me feel what it is like to be alive again. Just, thank you for everything._

_I was thinking what could’ve been had we met earlier, but it only made me feel glad that we didn’t. I’m not really proud of who I was when I was still living my days on earth. I had the concept of wealth get into my head and lived life thoughtlessly, so I wish for you to stay humble and kind, and to also not beat the red light. There’s a reason why they’re invented._

_The last time we were together, I almost told you I loved you. People should know when they are loved and I should’ve let you know then. I thought that if I kept it to myself, then it would be easier for both of us to move on. It turned out to be wrong. I’m an idiot, aren’t I? Looking back, it was really cruel of me to not tell you back how much you mean to me, how much I really wanted to stay, and how much I yearned for you every single day. I love you, Hangyul. You might not believe me anymore, but I do. I really do._

_I’m giving you my answer now. I know it’s already too late, but I’m willing to try again. To do this all over again; meeting you as a stranger, being with you as a friend, and falling in love with you as someone more than that. And if it would take all my memories being wiped out, not remembering a single second spent with you, I’d still take the chance to live just to see you again. If my memories get taken away as a price for wanting to get what’s much more real, to get what it feels like to touch what I can feel, to get what has a bigger chance of lasting, I wouldn’t mind starting all over again. I just hope you’ll accept me again with the same heart._

_I’m sorry for not telling you all of this in person._

_Always stay healthy. It’s getting cold so dress warmly. Thank you for everything. If heaven allows, then I’ll see you again soon._

_– Seungyoun_

_PS: The flowers are beautiful again today. As usual, those forget-me-nots are still my favorite. Also, I lied for the first time. I actually stole a single flower. Just one. I couldn’t resist it. It reminds me so much of you._

Hangyul doesn’t shed tears, yet his heart feels like it was being torn to shreds and beaten to dust, like the world is crashing down on his shoulders. He misses him, he misses him so badly his chest aches and he couldn’t breathe. He reads the letter again, and again, until the moon replaces the sun in the sky. Like clouds floating in a vast sea of blue, Seungyoun disappears just like that, and the only thing that’s left of him is a single letter that Hangyul swears to keep till his last breath.

Like always, like he has always been, he’s going to just pick himself up again and keep moving forward, no matter how difficult it is. Because tomorrow is another day, time will still keep flowing, with or without Seungyoun. He’s just going to have to live with the fact that he is no longer there, letting thoughts of him pass during quiet moments without it distracting him from going on with his life.

If there is something that those letters to heaven has told him, it is that he doesn’t really need to get over losing the most important people in his life, he doesn’t need to forget that they have existed at one point in time, he just has to learn how to deal with it, live with it, like it’s the fuel that keeps him going through the day. Because at one point they have loved him, and till now he still loves them. Who says everything comes easy? Nothing really ever is.

That night, Hangyul says a silent prayer – to see Seungyoun when the road decides for them to cross paths again. Nothing is for certain, but he holds on to that tiny speck of hope that Seungyoun still exists, that there will be a next time for them, that they can fall in love all over again.

-

So it seems to be true when one said that time heals everything eventually, and Hangyul witnesses it as he eventually stops walking in heavy steps and slumped shoulders. Other than that, he sees his flower business grow each day, saving him from impending bankruptcy. His customers increased every passing business hour and he could only wonder what propelled the neighborhood’s sudden interest to flower arrangements. The trend got him waking up early mornings to closing on late nights, even hiring a part-timer named Nam Dohyon who he is lucky to have worked for him because he could really use someone young and swift to in attending the customers’ needs, although Dohyon has tendency to become clumsy and knock over pots of plants at times. Hangyul enjoys seeing Dohyon run around the shop doing errands, and so do the older customers who goes to the shop to buy flowers but end up doting on him and giving him free snacks. He especially enjoys teasing the kid and seeing him react with an adorable frown and puffed cheeks, seeing him as a younger brother that he never had.

“_Hyung_, I’m taking my leave, I have to prepare for exams,” Dohyon chimes, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping out of the shop before Hangyul can even tell him to stay safe and remind him to come again for work tomorrow. The young part-timer stumbles with his steps the second he leaves the shop and Hangyul could only sigh with a smile on his face, bringing back his attention to sorting bags of flower seeds according to type.

When the door swings open and the shop’s bells tinkle, Hangyul jokingly says, “Forgot to kiss your favorite _hyung_ goodbye?”

“Oh, sorry my bad, I thought this was a flower shop,” a different voice says, making Hangyul lift his head up too quickly it made him a little dizzy.

“Shit, sorry, I thought you were my part-timer –“

Words are suddenly lost when Hangyul sees a familiar man standing tall behind the door, looking just as beautiful as the last time he saw him. His heart throbs at the sight of him, soft rays of sunlight illuminating his face. He wants to call out his name, yet he cannot move a muscle, wondering if this is all just some sick dream.

“Pretend you didn’t hear that. That was extremely rude, sorry,” he says, abashed, running his hands through his hair. Sure, that would definitely scare a stranger off, but he is no stranger. A few months ago, _they _weren’t strangers. Hangyul continues to gaze at the man. He looks _exactly_ like the one he loved a few months back. The same silky jet black hair, the same bright eyes, the same tall nose, the same lips he knows all too well, the same chin forming tiny dimples when he smiles, the same Cho Seungyoun.

Hangyul secretly pinches the top of his hand and feels sharp pain on his skin. He isn’t dreaming, and he couldn’t believe it. All that’s left is to know if this is Seungyoun, heaven’s postman; or a whole new Seungyoun that is completely far from the person he has spent his months delivering flowers back and forth with,

“Yeah, I should probably go.” Embarrassed, Seungyoun suddenly says and Hangyul’s train of thoughts immediately comes to a halt.

“Wait!” he calls out shakily. “Take your time to look around. I don’t really mind.”

Hangyul watches as Seungyoun makes his way around the shop, marveling at each flower on display and smelling the sweet scent of the blossoms. Nothing has changed, Hangyul still cannot take his eyes off of him, and he only realizes that he was staring when Seungyoun is already in front of the counter with roses in his arms.

Seungyoun wordlessly places his chosen bouquet of red roses on the counter, the way he’s avoiding eye contact making it obvious that he is still discomfited over his actions earlier.

“Hey,” Seungyoun says, shyly stuffing his hands in his jean pockets. “I just want to say sorry for a while ago. I don’t know what got to me. For a second there I thought I’ve already known you. I know it’s weird but I swear I’m not a crazy person.”

“No, you’re not crazy at all,” Hangyul shakes his head, fighting the strong urge to not go _Yes, you’ve known me! I was pretty much your lover before you decided to not reciprocate my feelings on the day we kinda broke up!_ “That would be 25,000 won.”

As Hangyul accepts the payment and he hands Seungyoun the receipt, their fingers touch lightly and even that tiny skin contact makes Hangyul miss him even more. Right then and there, he wants to touch him, to hug him, to tell him he misses him so badly.

“Thank you,” the ends of Seungyoun’s lips curl up into a shy smile. “My mother would love this.”

“Thank you, too. Please come again soon,” he unintentionally says in his usual customer service tone. He’s almost acting like a robot these days with how his business is quickly moving lately that it’s taking a toll on his human emotions.

Hangyul watches Seungyoun leave with the bouquet in his hands, and he gets to think, _when will I have a chance like this again? What makes me so sure that Seungyoun will come back again? Moments like this only come once, and the universe wants me to go after it like it’s the last cup ramen on earth. _There he realizes, if their paths will only cross once, he’ll pave another road so that they will meet again, no matter how much the universe tries to keep them apart.

He leaves his counter unattended and rushes outside, lucky enough to see Seungyoun still close by. As if he sensed an incoming presence, Seungyoun turns to see the florist running towards him, hair disheveled and a soiled apron still wrapped around his waist.

“Did I forget something?”

“Yes,” Hangyul pants out, catching his breath. “This.”

“I didn’t order that,” Seungyoun says, confused. He looks at the bouquet of forget-me-nots with one eyebrow perked up.

“You didn’t. Flowers like the sky with the sun in the middle…” he quotes Seungyoun. “I’m giving it to you. For free.”

Seungyoun observes the flowers before him, close enough that he can pick up its faint flowery scent. He then shifts his look back to Hangyul, and gazes at the younger with wondering eyes, the sense of familiarity still acting up on the pit of his stomach.

“Before I accept that, at least tell me your name.”

“Lee Hangyul.”

“Lee Hangyul,” Seungyoun repeats and whispers the same name to himself more than once, possibly recalling when has he heard that name before. “I’m sorry for asking a weird question all of a sudden, but have we met?”

_Yes_, Hangyul wants to say. _Many months ago on a heavenly expanse of grass and wildflowers, by a red and rusty mail post. It wasn’t the most pleasant of first meetings, and it did not bear the best of first impressions either. Your attitude was rude and dismissive, and I stubborn and infuriating. We met again the next day and you successfully fooled me into giving your rather tasteless afterlife a hint of flavor. And the rest is history. It wasn’t a good start, but the end was even worse._

“Yes,” he answers. “Just a while ago.”

“No, I feel like even before that,” he pauses to rub his fingers on his chin, “Tell me, have you heard of a Cho Seungyoun before?”

“I presume that’s you?” It took everything in Hangyul’s power to pretend he has not seen his most unanticipated customer before.

Seungyoun leans in forward, his expression brightening. “Yes! I’m actually getting mad goose bumps right now. Are you perhaps my soul mate?”

“Sir, are you hitting on me?” Hangyul leers and Seungyoun can only scoff as a reaction.

“Last time I checked, I wasn’t the one who came running to give someone flowers,” he counters with a smirk, pointing the bouquet of forget-me-nots still on Hangyul’s hold.

“Touché,” Hangyul purrs. “You want to talk about all of this over coffee? Someone once told me it’s better than most cafes.” Hangyul remembers the café a thousand miles from where they stand, holding the sweetest and the most bitter of memories. Right now, he’s going to make everything right.

With a gleam in his eyes, Seungyoun says with a smirk appearing on his face, “Aren’t we going a bit too fast, Hangyul-_ssi_?”

Hangyul has no idea what the heavens has in store for them. But what he does know is that after so long, they’re finally given the chance to make up for what they have lost, and wasting time is not on the agenda. Because if not now, then when? If not there, then where? Hangyul lost Seungyoun once, and he won’t lose him again.

“Trust me, we’ve lost a lot of time already.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was a lot shorter in my head :D :D so sorry for taking so much of your time reading this but i hope this was decent enough for you to not regret picking this fic up hehehehehe also this is my first fic in a long time so i'd appreciate to read some of your thoughts whether it's good or bad! thank you and quoting the words of a wise philosopher, "seungyul soulmates".


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